


For the Coven

by 0_anne_0



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_anne_0/pseuds/0_anne_0
Summary: The people of Forks all held their secrets close to their hearts, beating or not. Abigail Edra intended to live a life of seclusion and solitude, but her past and the beings hiding within Forks itself will never let her rest - and she's ready to fight back, in any way she needs too. Eventual Jasper/OC (very slow burn)
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Emmett Cullen/Rosalie Hale, Jasper Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story came to me a few weeks ago and just hasn't left me alone since then, in honestly I'm not much of a fan of Twilight...at all...it's a guilty please more than anything. But this idea's stuck with me so I'm gonna give it a go and would love to hear what you think about it.  
> Nothing much of anything occurs in this chapter but I'm hoping that its more of an indication for the general tone the overall story will take and intrigue you in some way... :)  
> Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think about this prologue!

Drip,

Drip,

Drip,

Drip,

The floorboards of the old shack, for that is all it could truly be referred to as, creak under foot as she steps forth into the room, the door swinging closed with a squeak and a bang behind her as it hits the frame. Disinterested eyes scan to the continuous drip, drip, drip of the brass tap over the stone basin set into the wooden countertop in the kitchen and as she drops her bag to the floor beside her the whole home seems to rattle at the foundations and the drip, drip, drip comes to an abrupt stop. 

The air in Forks seemed thicker, denser even, than the city air she was used too – the towering trees of the forests overlooking each side of her house provided a caged and stifling atmosphere, one of loneliness and solitude, the only connection to further civilisation being that of the dirt track acting as a driveway and connecting to the forest road at the end of her drive.  
But that’d do nicely for her.  
After years stuck in one house with so many girls, it was bliss having her own area of such solitude – distanced from not only the girls and the hysteria which usual surrounded the house, but distance also from the rest of the world. This is why she chose here, in Forks, a small town in Washington and further to that, a home at the very edge of all known civilisations it seemed. Moving to a different State marks a completely new start, away from all the melodrama of her life before. 

The light mist which seemed to hang in the air around Forks appeared heavier at her seclusion besides the woods, as though the trees themselves emitted a fog from their branches to shield her from the rest of the world and hide her in this haven. Though the damp air was little to adjust too compared to her change in accommodation – the wooden shack she’d chosen was far removed from the marble halls and swirling banisters mounted atop endless staircases leading down wide and echoing halls that she was so used to, having grown up surrounded by such grandeur since such a young age. The old shack creaked and groaned with every step and the cobwebs and dust mounted along the sides was a clear indication of its almost abandoned state. There were gaps between floorboards with thick mud bubbling up from between the holes and in one corner of the main room there appeared to be a growing damp issue where the wood was rotting and weak. While the room was sparse, with only a rickety old couch placed to the right with one leg falling off and a long coffee table placed in front of it with groves missing from the legs as though creatures had been nibbling away, she couldn’t help but run her hands over the rough walls and though the thick dust layered across the back of the couch as she moved towards the kitchen. For such an old home, the place was relatively open plan, with the kitchen appearing towards the back of the home, following on from the living room and stopping against the rickety old staircase reaching to the upper floor. A large, though, dirty and cracked window was set above the rather sizable rectangular stone basin and looked out over the forest at the back of her home, far into the trees until they disappeared into the fog that hung log over the ground. Splintering wood made up the countertop of her kitchen as they curved to fit the walls of the shack, breaking only for the old green gas oven placed in the middle. The island, which took up a majority of the kitchen space, was topped with the same misshapen and damaged wooden boards, with the cupboards surround the base in the same dull green as the cooker, missing corners and hanging off at their hinges. 

The man who sold her the property did so at a remarkably low price and seemed eager to get the home off his hands, and while she knew it’d be in no wondrous condition, she hadn’t realised how much work would be needed to be done, though she couldn’t find herself at all disenchanted with the history which seemed to bubble forth from the foundations of the house with every creak of her steps. 

Looking up from the bottom step of the old staircase, which was worn and bowing in the middle of each step, the once polished varnish chipping off in large flakes and leaving behind a rough and unforgiving texture, the girl began her ascent to the upper floor, though the steps seemed to cave further under her weight as though unable to support such a force after so long of disuse. The stairs opened into simply a short and narrow hallway with three doors leading off, one on each side and one at the end of the hall. The first door to the right led to a bathroom, complete with a standalone sink with the same brass taps as those in the kitchen and a narrow bath in the same dull green as the cooker below. While the second door, to the left of the hall, leads to a bare room, the ceiling slopping in on the each side to accommodate the roof of the home and a slim window in the gap of the wall where the ceiling met. Finally, the girl, turns to the final room in the hallway, softly closing the door to the bare room behind her as she moves down the hall slowly, seeing the begins of rot in the corner of floorboards beside the final door. Opening the door revealed a room flooded with light as a large window, similar to that of the one in the kitchen, opened up at the front of the house, overlooking the driveway and providing enough of a view so as to see the forest path at the end through the low hanging trees. A four-poster bed was placed to the right of the room against the wall with thick, heavy curtains still hanging around the bed, pulled back as they must have been left when the previous occupants left the premises as the crease od the fabrics were filled with dust and muck. A vanity sat across from the bed, a tarnished white one with three mirrors mounted across the top – though each were cracked and damaged in some way. 

She moved forward toward the window at the front of the room, standing before it and looking out at the setting sun in front of her, barely visible through the fog settling against the ground of her dirt driveway and the low hanging branches of those protective trees in front of her. 

The girl pulls back from the wood to take a look around the room she will call her home, noticing the origins of the damp she’d found downstairs in the corner of the room, just beginning to rot the floorboards form the wall. As she sat on the thick bed sheets, once a rich ruby but now faded red, a plume of unsettled dust rose around her and the floors creaked in warning beneath her as that muted drip, drip, drip of the kitchen tap began again beneath her.

Falling back onto the bed, she stares up at the canopy above her and at a small spider weaving its already elaborate web in the corner, against the bedpost. The safety she found in the home and the comfort she felt in the history and ethereal surroundings of the shack were palpable around her as she breathed in the musty scent of the room, relaxing into the quilt beneath her.

As different as this home was to her usual, it was hers and it was a home she would make her own.  
Alone and in solitude.  
Exactly as she wanted.

Drip,

Drip,

Drip,

Drip.


	2. Chapter One

Forks High school was unquestionably an opposing building, though the wooden sign reading ‘Forks High school, Home of the Spartans’ at the entrance certainly reduced its intimidation factor. Standing before the building, in the wet and dreary car park, the girl observed those around her – Forks High didn’t have a uniform, but she still felt she stuck out like a sore thumb in her usual clothing. In her old home, there was no uniform either, but everyone had a tendency to dress in the same way, with the same colour and style of dress – it wasn’t a necessity but rather something they all seemed to have adopted over their time there – a form of solidarity created through their dress sense. But now, stood in her pointed black patent pumps, and her wide, frilled collar white shirt, a thin black ribbon tying in a bow at the front, it occurred to her that, alone, and not in the groups she’d previously travelled in she looked somewhat odd compared to the large coats and jeans the crowds were wearing. It was a feeling she was used to dealing with, but never alone before.

Her previous school had a tendency to travel in packs when they left the building; not that that happened too often. In these groups, dressed smartly in shades of black, the girls walked with their heads held high, confidence radiating from their very beings that made people cross the streets to avoid them out of sheer intimation.  
It was addictive; the power that it brought.

And no matter how high she held her head, or the severity of her square set shoulder; that intoxicating sense of power was struggling to reach the same highs. It struck her, that while she had moved here to find comfort in isolation and leave behind the rising hysterics of her previous residence, she suddenly felt very alone – and while her previous home had its faults, she’d never had to deal with being lonely.

A slow week had dragged by since her initial arrival in Forks, and little progress had been made in her attempts to make the small shack feel more like a home – despite the strenuous efforts made to repair the damages reeked by time and nature itself. She’d hardly stopped since she’d enter the building, not even having taken the time yet to unpack her bags, except for the uniform line of pointed black shoes she’d arranged by the door, having previously taken a drive around the town to familiarise herself with her new neighbourhood. 

The town truly was small; it’d barely taken her thirty minutes to drive from her home at the treeline of the forest to the ‘Leaving Forks Washington’ sign. So it was no wonder that she could pick out so many faces that she’d already seen in her short drive around over the weekend. The group of girls standing near the doors of the building looked to be comparing their nails while balancing their school books in their arms and she could remember seeing them weaving in and out of shops in her drive around. By a large black van, two boys were waving over a small group of girls to come and join them and they grinned before skipping over – Abigail felt she’d seen these boys especially; they’d pulled up next to her at a stoplight in town, competing to yell above the blaring of the car radio and sing along to the music. Even the stiff collection of people standing beside a jeep looked familiar and she was sure she’d seen them driving around the town as well. It all served to make this initial introduction to the school much less intimidating, considering she probably recognised half of the student population already. 

For such a small town, she perhaps should have expected news to travel fast about her arrival. As she moved away from her small black beetle – a gift from the previous headmistress of her school – a number of eyes took notice of her, looking her over and turning back to their groups to discuss their findings. She tipped her chin up, squared her shoulders, straightened her back and walked forward into the school building, trying desperately to draw from that feeling of raw power and intimidation she was so used to. She didn’t particularly anticipate making new friends here. When she moved for solitary and isolation – that’s exactly what she wanted, as such, she fully intended to assume the role of the loner and keep a distance from any and everyone during her time here. Something she’d had plenty of practice in, during her final few months at the Academy.

The sharp click of her shoes echoed off the empty halls of the school entrance, the misty light of the morning streaming in through the door behind her and illuminating her against the polished linoleum of the hallway, casting a shimmering mirage of her image against the floors as she made her way towards the front office. Like most of what she had experienced so far in the town, the school was drastically different than her usual surroundings. It was basic and classic, like a school she’d only seen in teen movies and read about in novels – never having set foot in a typical school herself before. 

The bright posters and displays tacked to every wall reflected of the floor in a dull kaleidoscope of colour, as if trying to disguise the dull and worn appearance of the dented lockers, stained walls and damaged floors. The differences would be long and tedious to list but she found herself struggling to discover comfort in any of her surroundings; the foreign nature of the bright colours and worn surrounding so vastly different from the polished bannisters and waxed floors and marble archways she’d usually pass through – rather than the peeling paint of the blue swing doors leading into the office. 

A series of blue and yellow shirts were tacked to the wall, bearing the symbols of the school and the Spartans logo. A small and plump woman was pushing a pin into the lower corner of one when the sound of the door swinging shut caught her attention.

“Oh, hello dear.” She spoke with a cheerful and warm voice, one befitting of her kind face and homely mannerisms as the woman turned her welcoming smile to the girl,  
“I’m Mrs. Cope, you must be Abigail?” The plump woman looks to the girl for affirmation, who gives a small nod and delicate smile in response.

“Brilliant,” Mrs, Cope remarks cheerfully, her smile brightening by the second “, welcome to Forks High, I’ll just grab your schedule.”

Mrs. Cope turns for a moment, heading towards the bulky printer placed behind the desk and against the wall. Abigail watches as the woman taps her fingers impatiently against the machine and tuts quietly under her breath at its slow performance. She retrieves the papers with a sharp snap as she looks them over and makes her way back to the desk, pulling on her gaudy green waistcoat as she does so.

“Here you are dear, if you need any help going over anything or you want to change your courses at all, just pop back and see me okay?” she begins highlighting a map of the building as she speaks and marks the subjects with the corresponding colour of which building and room it’s in. It was a kind gesture, despite Abigail not at all needing the assistance of a map; she’d find her way around without a problem. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Cope. I’ll keep that in mind.” Abigail responds demurely as she delicately slides the papers off the desk and steps out into the hall again. The sun had broken through the cold morning mist while she was in the office, and the light streaming in through the glass doors reflected more keenly off of the walls and posters – enhancing the attempts to brighten the school halls with the glaring, vibrant colours. 

Abigail looked briefly at her schedule as she made her way along the hall, gliding her hand along the painted brick wall as she did so, moving with the intention of finding the library before the first bell rang. The library back home was an ornate and colossal room, books stretching to the ceiling and from one wall to another. It had been a large domed room, with stained glass decorating the top and allowing sunlight to come streaming down onto the desks dotted around the room. When Abigail had first arrived at the school, the library was always bustling with people, it was a struggle to find a table even, but the constant rustle of pages and soft footsteps of the other girls and the general wonder that engulfed the room was something she had always loved. Towards the end of her time there however, she was usually alone. Not only were there fewer people in attendance, but the general attitude had changed and the old traditions her elders had coveted had diminished. None the less, the library was always a sanctuary for her, and she was eager to discover one in her new home also.

It turned out that the library was towards the back of the main building, somewhat separate from the classrooms in the area. The wooden doors leading into the room were chipped and damaged from years of use, and the carpet in front of the doors was worn down from such heavy footfall. But the room itself, while not meeting the same majesty of the one back home – though she was sure none would ever compare – was wonderful. Dark wooden bookshelves towered over one another and created a sort of nook of tables in the centre, with the odd one set to itself in the corners of the room – she could easily get lost behind one the shelves in the furthermost corners of the room. 

While she often visited the library for its peaceful atmosphere and a simple moment of tranquillity, she was also awfully fond of books and already anticipated taking many from the library here. Pride & Prejudice, Emma, Ivanhoe, The Monastery, The Mortal Immortal, Harry and Lucy, Frankenstein… The large selection of Regency era books and authors indicated that Abigail had discovered her favourite collection; she had a particular love for regency fiction, though also found herself immersed within the pages of a history novel on many occasions. In all, she simply loved to get lost within the different world that books offered her and the wisdom they could provide. 

While she inspected a particularly worn cover of Pride & Prejudice - a favourite novel of hers – the bell for first class rang out across the school. Abigail set the book down and checked her Timetable again, noting her classes for the day; English Literature & Language, Art, Science, Russian and Psychology. She tucked it away into her auburn satchel bag, crumbling the map further in the process and made her way back towards the main entrance, her hand coming back up to the wall as she went and the other students began flooding in for their first lesson. It became evident that English Literature and Language wasn’t held in the main building and she began to make her way back across the car park and to the second building.

Her English room was just as drab and grey as the halls were, though there was clearly less of an effort made by the English teacher to disguise the room with brightly coloured posters or inspirational quotes. Rather, along the walls were tacked book recommendations, and looping script reading extracts from novels he’d be teaching. The teacher, who matched the drab interior of the school with his plain and tired appearance, introduced himself as Mr. Mason and quickly pointed out where the free seats would be once the class filled in, thankfully there was one tucked away at the back that Abigail settled quietly into. 

Student’s quickly filtered into the room, filling up the remaining seats and only leaving two free by the call of the second bell. Though Abigail had never sat a traditional English class before, it wasn’t too far removed from the structure of teaching she was used too – even if the novels being studied and the focused areas on them where vastly different from what her previous teacher would choose. Mr. Mason, as he paced slowly at the front of the room, hands clasped loosely behind his hunched back, informed the class that they would be studying Shakespeare for the first term – not a playwright Abigail particularly enjoyed but someone she could tolerate at the least, although she found his work tedious and mundane. 

The following classes of Art and Science passed uneventfully, though there were few in the class who didn’t spin periodically in their seats to glance at Abigail and turn back, put their heads down and whisper to their friends about her. She couldn’t hear any of what was being said but she could imagine the opinions they’d have of her – people where always very opinionated of her and her previous academy classmates she’d found; they simply attracted attention. 

Abigail at least found herself to wholly enjoy her Art class, despite the castaway glances and lowered voices which seemed to follow her around. While she certainly wouldn’t refer to her usual artwork as anything extraordinary, it was still something she found love in creating; she’d often sit in one of the public spaces at the academy and sketch the student as they came and went, or rather just the architecture of the building itself. As such, she looked forward to the class, and was pleased at least by the announcement of the first project; one based on Portraiture. 

As her day dragged by, the reception Abigail received in her classes changed little from what she experienced in English Literature and Language. Even when walking through the halls many would whisper to one another while staring blatantly at her and rush past with hurried footsteps when they got too close. While Abigail wanted to retreat to the Library for lunch period, not being used to dealing with the opinions and attention of other on her own and without the familiar comfort of a group, she decided it would be best to perhaps let everyone get a good look now on the first day, so, she made her way to the canteen. 

Like all other areas of the school, the canteen, with its polished linoleum floors and poster plastered walls, was still dull and aged. Round tables dotted themselves around the room, most filled with students sitting with trays of food and chatting loudly about their day, or classes, or the summer just been. A few were still empty, the pale sun bursting through the blackening clouds to reflect off the glossy tabletops. Abigail skipped picking a tray or food and instead just made her way to a lone table and sat, legs crossed at the knee, to put her head down and read more of her book. She was barely a page in when the clatter of lunch trays sounded out across from her. Abigail peeked through her curtain of wavy brown hair before lifting her head up to be met with two girls. One, a pale blond with deep green eyes, sat with a teasing smile and calculated set in her brow. While the other, a brunette with a plain but delicately pretty face, sat with a more obvious smirk, one displaying a more plainly calculated look than her counterpart. 

“So,” the blond sang out “, you’re the new girl, Abigail Endra, right.” Although the blond phrased it like a question, it was clear that she didn’t need a confirmation to her statement- she’d heard enough from the whispers throughout the day to, at the very least, learn her name.  
“Abigail Edra.” She corrected in a closed tone.

“Right, of course.” The blond dragged the statement out again, looking Abigail up and down as she did, as though trying to create more time in the exchange to scrutinise the girl.  
“Everyone’s been talking about you,” the brunette chirped “, you’re like, the next hot thing.” While she spoke with a light-hearted and cheerful tone, there was an edge to her words, as she dragged them out like the other girl. 

“So true. I’m Lauren by the way, this is Jessica.” It was clear now that, despite their friendly exteriors, the girls where here more to gather information and asses the ‘new girl’ rather than make her feel welcome. 

Abigail looked between the two silently, having no intentions of indulging them in their poor attempt at conversation – something which neither girl seemed pleased with. They glanced at each other from the corner of their eyes and shifted uncomfortably in their seat, Lauren making a better attempt at appearing confident and unperturbed that Jessica did. It was clear that Lauren was the leader here; Jessica her sheep. 

“Okay,” Jessica dragged out awkwardly “, so do you want to, like, come and sit with us? We could introduce you to everyone?” while Jessica’s clipped tone made it evident that she still wasn’t saying this to be friendly, Lauren proceeded to elbow her sharply in the side for the invitation, apparently not having allowed her to extend as such to the ‘hot new thing’. To her merit, Jessica looked sheepish for a moment while she rubbed her side and dipped her head away from Lauren.

“No.”

The two girls, regardless of the fact they never really wanted Abigail to join them, looked shocked at her dismissal. And while Abigail knew she was likely being rude, and she could have at least offered more in a response, these two girls weren’t exactly people she’d wish to befriend – they reminded her far too much of some of the girls at the old academy, the same snide and controlling girls who pushed her towards leaving. 

Ignoring Lauren’s and Jessica’s astonished looks, Abigail returned to her book as though they’d already left and waited patiently for them to actually do so. She heard as one of the huffed and dropped their hands onto the table, evidently not letting Abigail get off so easily. Abigail sighed to herself and turned back to them just as Lauren opened her mouth – and said nothing. Her attention was suddenly called to something behind Abigail and the blond quickly closed her mouth, straightened her back, stuck her chest out and pouted her lips. Lauren looked rather demure and beautiful, in a slightly desperate way, as she did this – Jessica’s attempt’s where less than successful. She curved her back in her attempt to push her bosom forward and her over-exaggerated pout looked more like a whining child than a sexy plump lip. 

Abigail watched them for a few more moments as their eyes traced someone’s movement around the room, obviously watching someone as they walked across the canteen behind Abigail. The two girls didn’t even look back at Abigail as the hurriedly gathered their trays and rushed back to the table, where a group of three boys and another girl sat, twisted in their seat and waiting for the results of the conversation. They were all swift to swing back around as they saw Lauren and Jessica approaching, as though Abigail wouldn’t notice their blatant staring. 

With the girls gone, Abigail looked slightly over her right shoulder, her hair still shadowing much of her face so as to be less obvious. There were a group of student sat at one table, all rigid, all pale, all breathtakingly beautiful and all seeming to draw just as much, if not more, attention than she was as the new girl. She scanned back around the cafeteria, observing how everyone was suddenly splitting their attention between her, this table of students and their own conversations – though being much more subtle about it now than they were previous. Abigail looked back over her shoulder, taking less care to appear subtly now; no one else seemed to bother as it was, despite their half-hearted efforts.

There were five of them altogether, each as beautiful as the other, but all as uncomfortable as the next. Perhaps the other students could see them as they laughed quietly at one another and some of them threw an apple back and forth, perhaps they didn’t take note of their stiff shoulders and tight smiles. But Abigail, who was only too used to these tense signals, picked them up immediately. But why, when sat in their own little group, the picture of purity, were they so on guard. 

She may have come with the intention of being a loner, but Abigail also fully intended to know exactly the type of people she was mingling with – and this mysterious group of teens had just become her top priority. 

Abigail returned to her book, focusing much better now that much of the attention had moved off of her, although a decent amount of her attention was split between reading and observing their table. Lunch hour dragged on for what felt like an eternity before the final bell rang, signalling the beginning of the last two periods – Russian and Psychology for Abigail. She’d spent some time at the academy learning Latin – a mandatory class – and a few years studying Greek, but Russian was always a language she wanted to explore, hence why she took it as an elective. 

Miss. Tyler, the Russian teacher, was a small thing, petite and slight with auburn hair frizzing out from the top of her head and down to her shoulders. Her thin lips drew in a tight smile and her eyes matched the expression with their harsh glare – overall looking more like a grimace than a smile. There were few students in the class, only six of them, including Abigail, but she’d always much preferred small groups. 

Miss. Tyler took her time to explain how class would work and how their grades would be split over the year, before launching into a rapidly passed speech in Russian, one which, if the befuddled looks of the student in the room, no one understood any more than Abigail did herself. 

By the end of the class Abigail decided she rather enjoyed Russian, the students here, perhaps due to them all being away from their friend groups, paid her little mind and worked quietly alongside her thought the lesson – no whispering or glances to set her on edge. 

Her final class called her to Psychology, another of her electives. The classroom was in the third building on campus, the only one Abigail had yet to venture into. A light drizzle had begun outside since the beginning of the day. The moisture finally breaking through the heavy clouds and casting a dim light over the ground as the pale sun struggles to burst through alongside the rain. Some of the students deemed the weather bad enough to run from building to building screaming, but most walked calmly across the grounds, trampling in the small puddles beginning to form and tracking wet footprints through the main hallway of the third building. 

As Abigail entered the Psychology class, she was greeted with a lanky ginger man, glasses perches on the bridge of his sharp nose and his beard growing in all wiry and boyish. He turned to his students with a wide smile of crooked teeth as he introduced himself as “Mike, not Mr. so-and –so or anything like that,” he dismissed with a wave of his slim hand “, just Mike will do.” He leaned back on his desk to smile around the class before pushing himself forward and spinning back behind his desk to write against the board and begin his lesson. He was sporadic and animated in his movements and the class perked up at the prospect of an exciting and fun new teacher. Abigail herself perked up at his behaviours, his joyous attitude being infectious. But, this jovial attitude couldn’t distract her from one member of the class who didn’t seem to be quite as keen as the rest.   
Her blonde hair fell in gentle curls down her back, framing the sharp angles of her face and giving way to her roman nose and arched brows – all framing bright amber eyes and dark lashes, finished off by plump rosy lips. She was slight but curvy, sitting just as rigidly in her class seas as she had done in the cafeteria before. While seeing them all in a group before made their beauty overwhelming, she was still absolutely breathtaking, unnaturally beautiful even, all on her own. The woman sat a row in front of Abigail and one seat to the left, offering her a clear view of her as she kept her eyes keenly trained on the front of the room. 

Abruptly, blonde curls went flying over one shoulder as the woman whipped her head around to stare directly into Abigail’s eyes, with raised brows and pursed lips. Caught, Abigail looked away slowly and back towards the front, though she could feel the blonde's eyes trained on her for a few moments after. The group were clearly…something different. The blond seemed guarded and stiff, on edge with her surrounds and yet appeared so composed and dignified, giving off an air of intimidation that Abigail would only be able to achieve within a group. For fear of being caught again though, Abigail kept her staring to herself and focused on the class, despite her mind whirring over these strange group of teens.   
By the end of the day, Abigail was tired of the staring and the whispers, and she almost felt bad for inflicting the same on the blond in her Psychology class. She stood, one hand on the door of her dented red locker and the other placing novels and textbooks inside, having decided she’d need none tonight at home. It was while her head was buried in her locker that a group of three boys came and rested against the lockers next to her, one opening his own with a grin as the two other laughed behind him. They continued joking back and forth until a low whistle from one of them caught her attention. Abigail looked at them from the corner of her eye and under her lashes, careful to not move her head and attract attention as she noticed how one boy had leaned carelessly against the lockers and scanned someone form cross the hall with a predatory gaze, the whistle intending to draw the intention of his friends to look round as well. 

Abigail glanced over her shoulder to see the blond from Psychology standing beside the hulking brunette she’d been sat with from lunch. He was huge, muscles threating to burst forth from under his top and he was certainly not someone Abigail would want to piss off – and she was sure that whistling and admiring the blond who stood with her hand against his forearm was sure to do it. 

“She’s a right piece isn’t she?” The whistling boy commented. 

“Damn right. The things I’d do to her.” His friend remarked, shoving the boy to the right and laughing towards the one on the left. They all laughed along, undoubtedly thinking the same perverted things. Abigail’s blood began to boil, she was always remarked to be rather level headed and calming at the academy, mature for her age they’d say, but there were a few things which would never sit well with her – one being sleazy men. Being in an all-girls school, she’d had her experience with men like these and comforted plenty of girls after their run ins with worse – while they may seem like nothing more than perverted comments, Abigail was well aware of what they could lead to. She looked back at the blond and her partner and watched as an undignified snarl graced her flawless face and the bulking man raised a hand to cover hers. They’d clearly heard, though the blond looked more enraged than the man did, not that that erased the harsh and penetrating nature of his gaze. 

The whistling boy pushed himself off the locker and turned to the two boys, pushing them around as he kept glancing over to the pair across the hall. One of the boys was clearly egging him on; while the other seemed to be holding him back, remarking that it was a bad idea and not worth the outcome. Although Abigail wasn’t certain what his plan as, she abruptly slammed her locker shut, pulling the attention of the boys and the blond and her partner over to her. She kept her head down and readjusted her bag on her shoulder while the boys glanced around and started to pull the whistler down the hall and away from the blond – not that he was particularly receptive of the idea. As he pulled away from them, laughing obnoxiously as he went, he passed by Abigail as she moved into the centre of the hall and away from her locker and just as the boy swaggered past her and toward his destination, his feet went from under him. 

He fell backwards, looking remarkably like a cartoon character that’d just slipped on a banana peel, smacking his head loudly off the hard floor as he went. He rolled onto his side, groaning and bringing a hand to the back of his head while the hall erupted into whoops and laughter and his two friends came rushing over to help him. Abigail stood in the centre of the hall, looking back over her shoulder and down at him with a darkened stare. She caught the blonde’s eye as she looked back up and they held each other’s gaze for a moment, an acknowledgment passing between them. Abigail turned slowly to face back in front of her and made her way purposefully back down the hall, pushing one door open as she exited the building and made her way back towards her raindrop covered black beetle. 

Pulling the visor down, Abigail checked her reflection in the mirror, noting the hard set of her grey eyes and the slight flush in her pale cheeks. She had no room for sleaze bags and perverted little men in her life, and she doubted anyone did in theirs either. She felt he’d got what he deserved, and hoped his head would throb painfully for a while to serve as a reminder. As she flicked the visor back up and started the engine, she noticed the beautiful blond and the hulking beast of a man make their way over to the remainder of their little group, who stood around their parked cars. They spoke for a moment, and then all eyes were looking towards her. 

She started, panicked under their gaze and felt the blood rush to her face in panic. If the blond was intimidating on her own; that was nothing compared to how they were in a group. Abigail composed herself, focused in front of her and pulled slowly onto the road, intending to spend the evening cleaning up the abysmal quality of her home and maybe finally getting to unpacking. But despite all the plans for the evening that she tried to force to the forefront of her mind, she couldn’t bury the red flags rising about the strange group of beautiful teens in the parking lot.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's another chapter!  
> I'm not as happy with this and I struggled in a few places (hopefully you cant notice) but it's here! I'm writing the next one already & hope to have it out soon.
> 
> Enjoy!

When it was summer, and the unforgiving sun beat down overhead and the opposing trees surrounding the white Academy walls offered no shade; it was best to head to the dining room – the high ceilings and narrow windows with their thin net drapes, and the conjoining kitchen occupying the large metal fridge and tin platted stove always gave off a chill, both in appearance and physicality. 

When it was winter, and the bitter winds blew and the frost clung to the grass blades in the mornings and by the afternoon a fog hung low over the gardens, rolling in on itself, inviting you into its frigid grip; it was best to head to the main room. There was a grand marble set fireplace, fitted between white marble beams, and a plush couch sat facing it atop an old but loved rug and, to the left of the room, the space opened up, the beams moving aside for another, larger rug and a sizable grand piano sat to the left, in the corner by the doorway. The fireplace roared and filled the room with warmth while the rugs heated the girls from the toes up as they hoped from one to another, desperate to avoid the chill of the wooden floorboards.

When it was spring, and the leaves began to turn green, the gardens surrounding the Academy blooming into colour – the roses opened like wings taking flight and the daisies filling the lawn pushed up through the ground while the gentle hum of life filled the outside; it was typical for the girls to crowd on the porches. With the bottom floor came a far spreading porch, encasing the entirety of the house like an island. Elaborate marble beams spaced closely together like bars around the perimeter, spread upwards to support an identical balcony – the same depth and expanses as the porch. The pale wood was polished and perfect and reflected the sunlight in beautiful coloured shimmer, but remained cool underfoot from the shade cast by the balcony and overhanging roof.

When it was autumn, and the grass died back, the leaves a rotten brown falling form the tress and the sun deceived with cooling rays as the winds grew bitter; the girls usually settled into the Library. With its monumental ceilings and round rooms conjoining one another, each wall covered in shelving and loaded with book after book after book; novels of great poets, artists, scientists, political activists, snug alongside ancient manuscripts from alchemical scientists and Professors from centuries previous. The dark wooden tables scuffed the floors as the girls pushed them together and apart, the light from the domed glass ceiling above bouncing to-and-through from every source. 

Winter was Abigail’s favourite. The girls at the academy were a close knit group, but recent years and events had torn them from each other, creating un-mendable riffs between lifelong friends. But during winter, in the main room in front of the fire, jumping from rug to rug and playing the piano obnoxiously poorly – the camaraderie and sense of family returned, however short-lived the moments where. Towards the very end, in the final months before Abigail fled, it didn’t matter the season or weather or traditions of the ancient building, the few girls who remained were rarely in the same room as one another – and certainly never in the same room as Abigail. 

The rooms where far too big to occupy by one’s self - the lofty ceilings amplified the solitary footsteps traipsing through and even the turn of a page echoed in the silence; the fire could provide no warmth for the chill that hung in the air.

The frigid hostility that settled over the house was impossible to ignore, and played a large part in Abigail’s departure. Coupled with her desire to be set apart from the girls she grew up with, to be different. She hadn’t wished for the life she had, and, while she enjoyed it in her earlier years, the violent nature of that world soon made itself clear and much of her time from then was spent searching for a way to be different – to break away from her slowly consuming destiny and the expectations forced upon her. She enjoyed her life, and her days spent with her sisters; but the pressure, the expectations and the jealously she survived under weren’t worth it. 

She felt that while her new home lacked much of the commodities of her previous, it was just what she’d always wanted. It’d been just over two weeks now, since her move and good progress was being made on the shack. Granted it was exceedingly difficult and taking significantly more time while avoiding the use of her usual methods, but that’s what the move was for. The rickety old couch had new legs and now sat straight, although the cushions still appeared lumpy and sagged terribly in the centre and pulled down along the back. The chewed coffee table had been chucked, after Abigail found that the holes riddling it were due to the creatures which now lived inside. The mould which had begun to sprout from the section of damp originating from the upper floor, which had spread through the rotting floorboards, had been rectified to the best of her ability – though she did cheat slightly.

Abigail had gradually begun to unpack, most of her uniform line of shoes had moved away from the front door and now rested upstairs in the main room, along with her clothing, which now hung neatly in an old white wooden wardrobe she’d picked up in town from a charity shop. The shattered mirrors still remained, as did two of the cracked windows – but the kitchen one had been repaired and a clear, unobstructed view of the misty forest behind her house was now visible. The leaking tap had, however, not been mended and Abigail wasn’t certain if it would be or not – she found it somewhat comforting; the drip, drip ,drip filling the silence which she worried would be far too similar to the Academy in its absence. 

The most progress had been made on the second room; it had been fully organised, everything she’d needed being unpacked to transform the room into a workspace or study. Dried herbs and flowers lined each sloping ceiling, tided to a length of twine she’d draped along the length of them. Two desks fit snuggly along the right wall – both purchased at the same charity store as the wardrobe. All her academic books and manuscripts had been stacked along the far wall, underneath the window, and organised into columns of content. It felt somewhat like her old room – filled with books and old traditions. While Abigail intended to leave her old life behind, she wasn’t foolish enough to leave herself completely defenceless – she could understand the danger to manifest from the anger and betray felt with her departure.

While Abigail dedicated her free time to cleaning up her new home, she also spent some hours looking into the group of stiff teens who’d attracted so much attention in the Canteen and who had cast that uneasy feeling over her in the car park. She felt an unnatural pull to them, a curiosity that only the truth could quench. Thankfully she’d found it surprisingly easy to find information so far, not even needing to use more extreme methods of persuasion like she had anticipated. She’d learnt they were referred to as the Cullen’s – like some sort of pack or noble family, she hadn’t decided which was more fitting yet. 

The stunning blond she shared a Psychology class with was named Rosalie Hale, and was apparently the twin sister to the boy Abigail had thought looked entirely too uncomfortable too much of the time – Jasper Hale. The Small faerie of a girl was Alice Cullen and everyone she’d encountered had spoken of her with kindness and humour, rather than the hostility and unease the rest of the family seemed to be approached with. The hulking beast of a man she’d seen with Rosalie in the hallway was Emmett Cullen; Rosalie’s boyfriend. And the copper-haired boy who appeared to seclude himself even within the family unit was Edward Cullen. Abigail had discovered that they were all the adopted children of Carlisle and Esme Cullen and none, other than Jasper and Rosalie, held a true relation to one another.

Despite now being aware of their rather odd circumstance and their certainly less than ordinary family dynamic, Abigail could somewhat understand the fascination over them, especially in such a small town as Forks was. But she felt there was still something more to them. They seemed so rigid and guarded for a family who had lived here for years already, and that fascination surrounding them should have surely died down from how it seemed now – unless there was something else drawing people in.

Many she had spoken with had proclaimed Carlisle to be a brilliant doctor and a wonderful asset to the town that they were thankful to have – and many of the older women she’d spoken with had swooned over him and held a wistful, dreamlike quality in their voice at the topic of the man. His wife, Esme, had only been spoken of with positivity also; for the most part. It would seem that she donated an awful lot to charity and spent most of her time doing community work and mingling with the townspeople – though a few still seemed wary of her, insinuating that she was too kind if anything. And in Abigail’s experience, being too kind was just as much a red flag as being cruel – if not more so, it typically meant the person in question had something to hide or, perhaps, something to gain. 

The Cullen’s certainly were different. Figuring out what exactly about them that is has swiftly become Abigail’s main focus. She couldn’t say they were anything like the plethora of colourful, otherworldly or outwardly different beings she’d encountered before, which made defining them all the more difficult and sent all the more desperation through Abigail. She didn’t like not understanding those around her, she was used to having the advantage of knowing everything about everyone in her life – whether they knew so or not, and the Cullen’s were to be no exception. 

Without the help of the Academy library, and her own collection not being quite that extensive or old, Abigail had resigned herself to the adequate school library for a majority of her free time at school. She can’t be certain as to what she hoped to find in the school library, as she knew full well that they’d hold none of the books or manuscripts needed for her to decipher the Cullen’s, yet Abigail felt she had few more options short of contacting her elders for assistance – something she had no intentions of doing In even the most dire of circumstances, and having an off feeling about a group of teens certainly wasn’t dire in any way. Although it did little to assist in her understanding of the Cullen’s, past the few entertaining fiction novels which had given her a few fun imaginings, the library had at least offered her some solace from the taught and hostile atmosphere of the canteen. It became evident, after her dismissal of Jessica and Lauren on her first day, that news travels astonishingly fast along the bleak halls of Forks High, and it hadn’t even taken till the end of the day for her reputation to be solidified as a callous, ungrateful and hostile bitch, unwelcoming of any friends and depressing to be in the company of. 

Which Abigail felt was marginally too far in fairness. Dismissing two nosey girls is hardly befitting of the colourful language being used against her. Nor, did Abigail feel, was it deserving of the wayward looks cast her direction and the prolonged whisperings about her which she’d hoped would have passed after the first few days. 

No matter how much she loathed the atmosphere of the canteen, Abigail swiftly realised that the best way to get a grasp on the Cullen’s was likely to observe them, rather than jumping straight into research with little to no footing like she currently was. 

With his unhappy realisation, she reluctantly made her way from Maths towards the canteen entrance, rather than to the safe surrounding of the library. The slow walk she took feeling ominously like a walk into the inferno; as though what lay beyond the shinning metal doors wasn’t a room full of snarky and judgmental teens but rather one of hellfire and brimstone with leering stares and venomous words and, with alone as Abigail found herself to be feeling away from her old groups, she wasn’t sure if she was quite up to the task of handling it. 

As she pushed open the doors to the canteen, Abigail struggled to muster up her usual level-headed bravado and paused In the entrance, willing herself to move forward into the snake pit – their beady eyes all trained on her waiting hungrily for her next move. Lauren and Jessica sat side by side at the same table they approached from on her first day; their heads turned nearly 180 to watch her in the doorway, glancing between their peers and back at her to watch the outcome of her arrival since the spread of their own opinion as fact. Lifting feet of lead, Abigail began her walk across the room to the only empty table by the window, feeling more like the prey than she ever had in her life, walking with false confidence and a head held as high as she could carry. 

In an almost foreboding sense, Abigail’s settling into the canteen mirrored that of the first day with shocking clarity – she settled into the same table and pulled out a book, skipping a lunch tray and putting her head down as though she were reading and it wasn’t long before she felt the attention of the room shift as vividly as the wind changing direction and the cold air of the outside swept across the hall as the Cullen’s came striding in from the outside. 

The predatory gaze of her peers shifted, finding new and bigger prey in the group walking in and Abigail too felt herself shift; less like the prey and more the predator as she watched the Cullen’s move towards the lunch line and disinterestedly gather their lunches atop blue trays. The Cullen’s had a strange effect on the room, they attracted attention and held their audience captive with no intended effort and yet, the room calmed almost as a forced indifference settled across the students. Abigail herself felt less on guard now they were in front of her than she did before simply consumed in her thoughts of them and her musings. 

The Cullen’s settled into a table and arranged themselves with a calculated precision which Abigail keenly picked up on. She watched as they shifted slightly as though moving in a rehearsed manner; forcing actions which were taken too stiffly to be anything other than rehearsed. She noted again the stiff set of their shoulders and the tension marring their faces, crossed with the listlessness set within their eyes as they passed food around the table – no heed to them having picked their own trays of food from the same selection moments earlier. 

If at all possible, Abigail saw their shoulders tense further still as Rosalie and Jaspers backs straightened beneath Abigail’s gaze and, as she looked between them, she saw the amber eyes of Edward Cullen trained keenly against her. 

A jolt ran through Abigail, her heart skipping a moment as the hairs of her arm stood on end beneath the sleeve of her black top. 

Masking her unsettle in being caught, Abigail held his gaze, allowing a cold and emotionless façade to fall across her features – a talent which came in handy at the Academy but perhaps only served to solidify her abysmal reputation here at Forks. It seemed however, that Edward Cullen was much more rehearsed in his calculating and unsettling stare than Abigail was as she felt her resolve slipping under his gaze and tipped her chin up to compensate – setting a challenge to him that she wasn’t sure she could ever win. Any unease she had about them before had increased tenfold in these few short moment’s under Edward Cullen’s penetrating stare and the rigidness of his siblings as though waiting and coiled for the attack at a moment’s notice. 

Refusing to appear weak to these beings, Abigail waiting impatiently as a coldness slid down her back, like hands grasping at her skin and pulling her back from the challenge in a hastily spreading warning. But before she could break the stare first, Edward looked sharply to his right as the small faerie of a girl rose from her seat with a childlike grin and a contrastingly pointed look directed at her siblings. If Abigail felt a rising unease under Edwards’s predatory gaze, it was little compared to the chilling hand which gripped at her heart and turned her blood to ice as Alice Cullen lifted her lunch tray and began her course to Abigail’s table of solitude. Abigail’s gaze followed the girl, the masked anxiety reflecting in the lights of her eyes and the tension of her fingers around the pages of her book – an out of place response to the light skip in Alice’s walk and jovial expression as she settled into the seat across from her. 

Jessica and Lauren seemed like a much preferred option now. 

“Hey, we haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Alice” her high pitch, almost melodic voice came spilling out as though the introduction had been long contained, the excitement bubbling away. Why the Cullen girl has any interest in the first place was lost on Abigail and all she found herself doing was comparing the beginning of this introduction to the ones she had suffered through previously – if the outcome would be much the same and if she’d even want them to be different.

Alice knew her name, Abigail was certain of that much in regard to the girl – even If her family was an elusive mystery, there was no one in the school who didn’t know who she was by now. Tension was setting in quickly; Abigail wasn’t sure if it’d be best to focus on the pixie in front of her or the hoard still poised to strike behind her. 

As though Alice could sense her unease she spoke up, “Sorry about them, we don’t get new people here very often.”

Everyone else was curious of ‘Abigail the new girl’ not ready for the attack.

Abigail was stuck for words, her thoughts swirling at a million miles an hour. Why would Alice Cullen approach her? What was the need, the purpose? The rest of her family clearly didn’t seem keen so why bother at all? 

Alice fidgeted slightly, glancing back at her pack and smiling tensely with furrowed brows towards Abigail. She picked at the deep red polish covering her rounded nails and pushed her smile to grow. The deadpan stare of Abigail was clearly wearing her down; evidently not being the cheery reception Alice had expected. Abigail imagines that Alice thought she could skip over, plop down with her cheerful disposition and learn all about her and within a few short moments have befriended the most hateful and chilling girl in the school. Clearly she thought herself the nicest girl here; in Abigail’s experience the nice girls where often the most deadly. 

“So,” Alice breathed out “how do you like Forkes so far? It takes some getting used to I know, but I know I really love it here now! The woods are beautiful and it’s always so quiet and peaceful, some people would call that boring I suppose…but it’s wonderful!” The words fell from her painted lips in a tumble, clambering to align themselves as they spilled forth, winding around the soft laughs that punctuated the excited ramble. Alice was trying to fill the silent void that Abigail had created and the tension of the situation was showing in the creases of her forehead. 

Why come over? What was the purpose? What did she want to know? What did she need to know? 

It dawned on Abigail like icy water being dripped down her spine. 

She wasn’t the only one sourcing information.

The realisation, while formed entirely inside the confines of her own mind, had evidently leaked forth onto her features. Alice breathed in sharply and straightened; she glanced more frequently to the Cullen’s and flattened her hands to the table. Abigail could feel her features hardening, her eyelids fluttering heavy and her head rising with a deep breathe out. Her head tilted, not quite like the inquisitiveness of a dog but rather the predatory nature of a snake. 

“What do you want?” 

It was abrupt, the monotone of Abigail’s tone doing little to hide her displeasure. 

Alice, much to Abigail’s surprise, looked upset at the question. Not angered or annoyed but upset. 

“I-“ Alice stopped, swallowed, looked at the table to bite her lip before focusing back on Abigail; with a breathe she continued “I just wanted to welcome you. I’ll leave you alone now. Sorry.” Alice looked down and Abigail swore she heard her sniff but then she was gone, lunch tray clutched in both hands and rushing back to her table with her head down. Abigail watched as she slumped back into her seat looking utterly downtrodden. 

It wasn’t the reaction Abigail had anticipated. She thought there’d be an altercation, a brief war of words as Alice defended herself. Not sad puppy eyes and a slump in the girl’s posture that, annoyingly, stuck a cord with Abigail. 

But then, in an act Abigail thought the Cullen’s must be quite incapable of, Emmet embraced Alice with compassion and gently rubbed her back in comfort. In fact, each Cullen demonstrated comfort for the faerie of a girl in their own way; Edward resumed his stare-down while Jasper joined Emmet in his comforting words. Rosalie took a leaf from Edwards’s book and swiftly spun around, her golden locks fanning out around her in a halo, as a snarl stretched across her painted lips.

Abigail held the blondes gaze for as long as she could manage, until, the whispers and murmurs around the room rose to a deafening madness that Abigail couldn’t bear to sit in. She broke their gaze to assess the room, desperate to keep her stony façade even as her arms went weak and her blood cold at the unminded glances and hushed murmurs directed at her and the incident she’d caused. To sit there was becoming more and more unbearable – their murmurs rising in sound like a cacophony around her, a tidal wave of white noise that she couldn’t escape. 

She wasn’t used to this. Didn’t know how to cop in these situations; alone, cold, weak, panicked.

Abigail shifted, shakily forcing her head down to focus on her book and block out the judgment surrounding her. Impossibly, the whispers seemed louder when she wasn’t looking at them, more sinister and snake-like in their hissing. 

Ashamedly, Abigail jolted in her seat and pushed her book inches away from her when the shrill rescue of the bell sounded like an alarm. Squeezing her eyes shut, she huffed out a breath as the whispers ceased all at once. And just like that, it was all over. The room stood together and everyone emptied out at once – the chatter was jovial and causal, their movements relaxed. 

And Abigail had never felt so insignificant. 

From the centre of everything; to forgotten about in a matter of moments. 

Even the Cullen’s, who had previously focused every ounce of their attention on her, were packed together as they shuffled out of the canteen – Alice already laughing and twirling between them all. 

Abigail was left on the table by the wall; alone. The white of the tiled floor appearing shockingly like the white walls of the Academy, the cold air billowing casting images of frosted grass and the faint twinkle of a piano filled her ears – as though played from a room she wasn’t allowed into. 

It took the canteen door slamming closed to snap Abigail out of her reprieve. She gazed, wide-eyed around the empty room. The bleakness of it all reflecting her mood. Gradually, she mustered the strength back into her frozen limbs to shuffle her book into her bag and pull herself from her chair. Her pointed black, patent pumps clicked loudly against the tiled floor, the echoing a reminder of her solitude. She paused at the door, her pointed red nails lying flat against the cool metal as she wished, fleetingly, that pushing them open may reveal a winding staircase with polished bannisters and a hallway lined with beautifully haunting marble statues… 

But instead, the dreary halls of Fawkes High revealed themselves instead and Abigail resigned herself to her final lesson of the day. 

Her classes were slowly becoming as bad as lunch spent in the canteen; unfortunately, unlike her lunch periods, she couldn’t escape to the library during lesson. Her art class, once enjoyable, had become filled with cliques and she now sat almost alone in the corner of the room while the other students sat in pairs and groups so as to avoid being paired with her for the Portrait studies – anyone unlucky enough to be so was sent fearful and pitying looks throughout the duration of the lesson as though Abigail was a demon in disguise ready to devour anyone who said the wrong thing. P.E had gone the same route and Abigail was always last picked and first side-lined to avoid any prolonged contact with her. Russian was no better, nor was Science or Math or English - The only class that hadn’t become stifling in it’s inhospitably was Psychology. 

But as she rounded the corner into the room, Abigail was faced with a blond bombshell sitting disinterestedly in the row next to hers. She’d forgotten, in all that had happened, that the only class yet to become unbearable was likely to change since it was shared with Rosalie Hale. Thankfully, Abigail wasn’t the last into the room and she felt that her entrance was filtered into the entrance of those after her; as though she could hide behind the attention they drew. 

And perhaps it worked – Rosalie Hale didn’t once turn around throughout the whole lesson, despite Abigail’s compulsive glances and Mike running back and forth in his exaggerated, although passionate, explanations. The blond beauties focus was firmly trained at the front the entire time. 

As Mike went off on yet another tangent, Abigail had reassured herself that perhaps the damage wasn’t as bad as she thought. And that if she could get through a whole class, without any issue, then surely this was an indication that her reputation wouldn’t be getting much worse. Just as Mike’s rambling was verging on nonsensical – the bell cut through the room. Mike looked at it accusingly, arms raised in the air, paused midway through his intense love for psychology. 

“Right! Suppose that’s all we’ve got time for then, -“He spun to his desk of littered papers and shuffled rapidly through them “- I don’t think there’s any homework – I can’t find it anyway! So I’ll see you all next lesson then, have a good evening!” Mike beamed at his class like a proud parent as he shuffled us out the door. 

It was as Abigail wandered from the room, head held high in preparation for the horror of the halls she must endure before the car park, that she discovered the trap.

“Abigail.” Called out the clipped tone from where they’d waited outside the door, like a snake hidden among the grass for the mouse it intends to strike. 

Abigail paused just outside the doorway and steeled herself, flattening the grimace of her face to a twitch as she spun around to face the calculated face of Rosalie Hale.


End file.
